


naive orleans

by adreamaloud, daneorange (adreamaloud)



Series: clexa low-key in love with your best friend au [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/adreamaloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreamaloud/pseuds/daneorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn’t see Lexa until Costia. Of course, it’s a disaster. That low-key AU in Clarke's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	naive orleans

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Anberlin.

 

This is how the story supposedly goes: Clarke meets her best friend at fifteen. They’re newly moved in, Lexa rescues her from a bike mishap, and their knees get all greasy in the effort. Clarke remembers cheekily volunteering their lawn hose as her gesture of thanks, and her disbelief when Lexa actually agrees.

That is how the story supposedly goes, but that is _not_ how it all starts.

Instead, this is where it does: One day, her best friend brings home a girl, and Clarke truly sees her for the first time.

*

Clarke doesn’t see Lexa coming.

Which is stupid, considering how she spends a good chunk of her years before uni doing practically _everything_ and _nothing_ with Lexa – from their lazy weekend bike rides to the lake, to their rainy afternoon stay-ins, to their haphazard study group efforts when the school year kicks in. Lexa is Clarke’s _constant_ – something that Clarke doesn’t have to work so hard for; something _effortless._ Around her, Clarke knows she doesn’t have to try so hard, because Lexa lets her be – whether it’s about leaving her alone to paint or to study at the other end of the table without interruption.

Lexa is just there – an unimposing presence.

Lexa is _not_ Finn, and Clarke should have known there was something here, if only because she thought about comparing.

*

The first time Lexa misses their bike ride that summer, Clarke tries to think nothing of it.

“Maybe she’s just exhausted,” Finn says.

Clarke shrugs, trying to resume her painting with Finn huddled so closely to her on their picnic mat. Though Lexa never really stayed too close to the two of them when she was around, always preferring the water to the shore, Clarke still feels her absence like a heavy block on her chest.

She remembers their last conversation; the one where Lexa makes it clear that Clarke owes her no explanation, where Finn is concerned. _Is she mad?_ Clarke wonders, dabbing her brush back onto her paint. _Are we having a fight?_

 _You don’t have to explain anything._ Clarke tries to ignore the anger lightly dancing around the borders of Lexa’s words.

“If you want, we could drop by Lexa’s later,” Finn offers.

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“She doesn’t like me, does she?”

Clarke forces a laugh out, if only to drown out the small sound she makes in agreement. “Don’t say that,” she just says instead.

*

Days later, it starts raining, and Clarke cancels her plans with Finn, opting instead to show up at Lexa’s door with her two favorite things. _Combos and ice cream,_ Clarke thinks; _who doesn’t cave after Combos and ice cream?_ She takes a moment before knocking, uncertain as to why she is even _nervous._

Lexa opens the door with her hair down and her feet bare and Clarke tries not to reel at the sight of her. _Is this who you are when I’m not there?_ “Hi,” Clarke says, gesturing to the things in her hand, and when Lexa smiles as she lets her in, Clarke decides to count it as a small win.

Their house is always ridiculously clean, that Clarke has to laugh a little when Lexa says, “I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors,” like she had to say something to excuse some nonexistent mess. Clarke heads into the kitchen; the ice cream is melting.

“You’ve been busy,” says Clarke, after a while. “Finn’s been asking about you.” She bites down on her tongue at that. _Of all things to say, really, Griffin?_

“What? About the girl who used to third wheel on you during your biking dates? Come on Clarke.” Lexa ends with a small laugh, and Clarke almost spits out, _Who do you think you’re fooling here?_

Taking a deep breath, Clarke takes Lexa’s hand and tugs her back to their couch. “Come on _Lex,_ ” she says, trying to make light of it. “Finn knows you’re my _best friend._ ” She feels Lexa stilling under her touch, and almost, Clarke recoils. _Well, we’re already here. Might as well._ “He’s leaving in a couple of days, okay? We’re having a bit of a goodbye party.”

“A party,” says Lexa, narrowing her eyes, and Clarke swings her legs on Lexa’s lap, trying to reach this familiar point of comfort again.

“The lake,” Clarke says, trying to be chirpy. “You and me.” Clarke smiles, looking at Lexa to check her expression. “And well. Finn would be there.” _Since it’s his going away party – for fuck’s sake, Lexa._ “Hey. I miss you, okay?”

“You’re only here because it’s raining,” says Lexa, looking away. Clarke feels her chest shift. _How fucking stupid have I been all this time?_

“I’m here because _you’re_ here,” says Clarke, off Lexa’s sigh. “Where’s your bike?”

“It’s broken.”

 _Bullshit._ “You _fixed_ my bike. Why can’t you fix yours?”

Lexa shrugs. “Maybe I can’t.”

 _Can’t or won’t?_ “Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

And the way Lexa says her name – like she’s _straining_ under some heavy burden, and she can’t breathe. Clarke lifts her legs slowly off Lexa’s lap and hugs them to her chest, thinking that would help. She watches closely as Lexa’s breathing evens out. “You don’t like Finn,” Clarke says.

“Do I have to?”

Clarke feels her stomach plummet. _But seriously, had I expected anything else?_ She must have immediately worn her feelings on her face, because immediately Lexa offers an apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m sorry I spent all summer hanging out with my boyfriend who’s only here on vacation—” It’s out before Clarke can even catch herself – _of course_ the apology comes off wrongly. _Fuck this._ She cuts the rest of the sentence off, and the silence hangs around them so palpably that it’s almost a physical presence. _Almost._

“Lexa,” Clarke tries again. Lexa has withdrawn to herself, closing her eyes and sinking into the couch.

“I’m sorry,” says Lexa, after a while. “As I’ve said, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Come out to the lake with us.” Clarke holds her breath for a moment as she reaches over to hold Lexa’s arm; like she’s waiting for her to pull away. She doesn’t move, but she doesn’t say anything either. “ _Please_.”

Lexa says nothing. Clarke tries not to take offense. _So your best friend doesn’t like your boyfriend. Happens all the time; not the end of the world, is it?_ She turns to her Combos and wills herself not to cry. She offers some to Lexa, who thankfully accepts. _It’s just Combos,_ Clarke thinks. _Everybody likes Combos._ When it’s empty, Clarke remembers the ice cream and gets it herself – their kitchen feels like Clarke’s own, in many ways, and she is able to navigate through its drawers and cupboards easily, even without Lexa’s guidance.

Lexa stays quiet on the couch, but even in this silence, heavy as it is, Clarke never really feels like Lexa wants her out of here. _If anything, it feels like she wants me to stay,_ Clarke thinks, handing Lexa her own mug of ice cream. Lexa stares into it, murmuring a soft thank you before digging in, her legs tucked underneath her. Outside, rain keeps pelting the windows, a steady rhythm building.

 _Huh,_ Clarke thinks, carefully lowering herself at the opposite end of the couch, mirroring Lexa. Like this, Lexa looks so _small_ , and for the first time, Clarke sees past the girl who fixed her bike, that first day they met.

*

On the day of Finn’s going-away party, Clarke looks up at the overcast skies and curses under her breath. _Shit. I am the absolute luckiest._ She gets on her knees and straightens the edges of her mat carefully, stretching it over the patch of grass.

Rain or shine, Clarke is doing this picnic _right._

“Hey.” Clarke looks up to see Finn walking toward her, and she tries to put on a smile. It’s his last day, after all. “Need help?”

Clarke shakes her head, looking away. “Nope,” she says, trying on a cheery tone. “I can handle this.”

Finn pauses for a bit before adding: “She’s coming, okay? Don’t worry too much about it.”

 _Fucking be all transparent about it, won’t you, Griffin?_ Clarke sighs. “ _Finn_.” Because really, the _last_ thing she needs is for _Finn_ to also feel horrible on his final day in town. _Why can’t you just focus for once, Clarke?_

Finn crouches beside her, avoiding the mat carefully. “ _Clarke._ Lexa’s coming. I’m pretty sure.”

“Of course she is,” says Clarke, trying to be flippant about it. “Why are you even telling me this?”

“Because,” Finn says, touching her hand carefully. “You’re worried and it’s written all over your face, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” Clarke snaps, just as thunder rumbles overhead. _Lexa isn’t coming, she hates the rain._ Clarke closes her eyes and breathes in. _She probably hates me, too._ She listens as Finn stands and walks away, like he always has when he senses Clarke being too tense; if there’s one thing he’s grown quite good at, it’s deciding when Clarke needs space. _Must be the years,_ Clarke thinks, remembering their early fights over Finn’s over-eagerness to offer a solution to _everything_ Clarke whines about.

Of course, she feels horrible about doing this to him; this day is _supposedly his,_ and not—

“Can I help?”

 _What?_ Clarke jerks her head up, and sees Lexa’s familiar frame hovering above her and _god,_ the sound she makes as she throws her arms around Lexa unthinkingly. “You’re here!”

“You said there would be food,” says Lexa, trying to be deadpan about it, but Clarke can’t help but note the small smile that keeps tugging at the edge of her lips.

“And there is,” Clarke says, looking nervously at the spread she’s managed so far. “I mean. Cake _is_ food, right?”

“Right,” Lexa says, and when she rolls her eyes, Clarke feels her heart flutter, gently.

*

Finn takes pictures with his Polaroid, and Clarke feels Lexa relaxing around her, finally; like Lexa hasn’t avoided all their bike trips together for the last few weeks. _Square one,_ Clarke thinks, as she presses her cheek against Lexa’s for the camera, Lexa’s hand draped upon her shoulder carelessly.

Lexa and Finn even talk, and if anything, this is what makes Clarke’s chest swell the most; she watches as Lexa and Finn take turns at the cake and the wine and she has to look away, at some point, because all too slowly her chest feels so close to bursting.

 _Lexa is trying. Lexa is trying for me._  

When it starts raining, they make a run for their bicycles. Clarke grabs the mat and wraps it around herself and she listens to Lexa laughing all through the ride home, waving at Clarke even as she rides past the Griffin household, yelling _Later, Clarke!_ as she disappears around the bend.

This is how she finds herself soaked to the bone at their doorstep, staring at Finn’s face, rainwater dripping from his hair, and really, what else is there left to do? Finn leans in first and kisses her against the door, and Clarke just lets him, her heart overflowing from things that aren’t even exclusively his.

*

Clarke wakes to Finn dressing; he looks over his shoulder just as Clarke sits up, and he rushes back to her to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Hey.”

Clarke clears her throat. “Hey.” And then: “Leaving already?”

“Bus is coming in a few,” says Finn. And then, holding Clarke’s hand: “So. That happened, huh?”

Clarke nods, her mouth dry. “Yeah.” _Fuck, what the hell was I thinking? He’s leaving._ “You should probably—”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Finn takes a step back, buckling his belt before reaching for his shirt at the edge of the bed and shrugging it on. “You all right?”

“Of course,” says Clarke. “ _Go._ You’ll be late.”

Finn smiles. “So. I’ll see you, princess?”

Clarke throws a pillow at him playfully, a small smile on her face. “I told you not to call me that.”

She waits by the door as Finn rides off toward the bus stop, staring at the bend in the road until Finn disappears around it as well. Around her the night is crisp cool and the air still smells like the earth after the rain; it makes Clarke sniffle, a little.

Down the road, a streetlamp starts flickering, and Clarke is ultra-aware of her one thought all this time: _How on earth am I going to tell Lexa?_

*

When Clarke appears on Lexa’s doorstep that night, Lexa answers the door with her hair newly washed; she looks so freshly out of the shower, it makes Clarke kind of self-conscious, somewhat. Lexa ushers her in wordlessly, heading straight to her room after closing the front door, like there isn’t even a question that Clarke’s here for the night.

Clarke spends a good amount of time just lying there in Lexa’s bed, staring at the ceiling. If Lexa knows right away what’s bothering her, she doesn’t really let on; she mostly just stays on her side of the bed, taking care not to brush against Clarke, as if Clarke’s a live wire.

Truth be told, she may very well have been; her nerve endings are still on _fire_ , somewhat, and when she glances at Lexa’s hands resting against the bed, she wonders—

 _Jesus, Clarke. You’re delirious._ “I think I did something I shouldn’t have,” Clarke finds herself saying, after a long while. She swallows hard, and she swears she can hear the _hitch_ in Lexa’s breathing at that.

“What is it?” Lexa whispers. In the dark, Clarke can hear the slight breakage at the end of Lexa’s tone; it’s how she sounds when she’s desperately pulling herself together, and Clarke bites down on her tongue to keep herself from making a similar sound.

_You backed yourself into this corner._

She turns to her side to face Lexa before saying it: “I slept with Finn.” It doesn’t even feel as real as when Clarke actually says it out loud. With Lexa this close, Clarke can feel the slightest movement that Lexa makes, and Clarke feels her heart shoot up to her throat.

“And?” The word’s barely a sound.

“And he’s my boyfriend,” says Clarke – more to herself than anyone else. “So this was supposed to happen, right?”

 _Right?_ Clarke closes her eyes, trying to ignore the way Lexa’s breathing has become more labored. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask,” she says.

“You’re my best friend,” says Clarke, the words tumbling out so _automatically_. “I’m pretty sure you’re always the right person to ask.” _My constant._

Lexa breathes in. “Not this time.” When Clarke opens her eyes, she sees Lexa looking right at her, like she’s saying, _Things have changed,_ and Clarke just knows, right then – as certain as the feel of this invisible knife currently lodged in her gut – there are things that they cannot return to, not anymore.

*

Summer ends, and Clarke stops talking about Finn to Lexa.

In a way, it’s a relief, to not have to keep saying his name; to not see the look on Lexa’s face whenever she does.

*

University begins, and Clarke is out of her depth, perhaps for the first time in so many years. Finn helps her move in to her dorm, and her first few months are devoted to finding the sense of balance that she has so preciously lost.

 _Keep it together, Griffin._ The place is huge and Clarke has never felt so small, and _alone,_ despite the fact that Finn comes to see her on weekends and holds her until she falls asleep on Saturday nights.

She doesn’t hear from Lexa; Clarke understands how she must need time to figure things out on her own.

Some nights, Clarke thinks about calling her, just to check if she’s all right. _Is this as hard for you as it is for me?_ Sometimes, Clarke finds herself looking out the window and staring at people walk hand-in-hand past the dorms, and really, how do people do this exactly -- build entirely new lives on their own?

 _New, different lives – so far from home._ Clarke wonders if that’s exactly what Lexa’s doing, this very moment, and she can’t help the twinge she feels in her chest.

*

Clarke counts down the days to term break, because _maybe then_ it would be acceptable to call at odd hours; _maybe then,_ she won’t even have to, given that she could just bike to Lexa’s and stay the night. Or maybe the week.

Or maybe the whole time, because term break is frightfully brief, and she misses Lexa _so much._

 _God, is this feeling even okay?_ Clarke stares at her open book until the words start swimming before her eyes. She doesn’t even remember feeling so strongly for Finn – Finn, who joins her for lunch on Wednesdays and Thursdays; Finn, who tries to take her out on Friday nights, even if it’s just for a half-hour dinner on nights when Clarke has to study for a Saturday morning exam.

Finn, who doesn’t insist on having sex again, because Clarke doesn’t want to. Finn, who stays over on Saturday nights, enjoying the quiet instead.

*

“Maybe she’s coming in tomorrow,” Finn says over the phone. Clarke’s out alone on the lake again, and she tries not to think about how heartbreaking it is, when the sun’s out and lovely _like this_ and Lexa isn’t around. _She would have loved all this sun._

“Maybe,” says Clarke quietly. “Listen, Finn, I’m painting so—”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t—well, I should probably hang up and let you do your thing.”

Clarke looks up, squinting at the sun through the leaves. _All these beautiful greens, and Lexa isn’t even here to go crazy about all of it._ Clarke doesn’t exactly know why she is so sad; she isn’t even sure she wants to find out, either.

*

Clarke doesn’t know what hurts more: Lexa saying she isn’t coming home for the term break, or Lexa saying she isn’t coming home for the term break _because she met someone._

 _Listen, I met someone._ Clarke has never been terrified of such small words, but then again -- _But then again, there’s always the first time._ Clarke tries to shake it out, rubbing at her eyes, trying to ignore the way the words bounce around in her head. _I met someone. I met someone. I met someone._

 _Jesus, Clarke,_ she thinks. _People meet other people all the time._

*

Clarke tries not to think about it – try, of course, being the operative word. When term starts again, she finds Finn’s schedule is no longer as free as it used to be, and Clarke finds herself feeling more alone than ever.

Which is okay, really; she’s got a couple of subjects she needs to focus on, anyway. _Clarke Griffin is going to ace this term,_ she tells herself, but truth be told she aches for company all the time.

She aches for _Lexa_ , and the feeling festers under her skin like a dull thrum throughout.

*

On Halloween night, Clarke bails on all her parties, including Finn’s. She does not understand where all this _exhaustion_ is coming from, but it feels like the whole week has done nothing but pummel her to the ground, so Clarke decides the best thing to do is stay in bed.

Maybe paint a little.

Maybe try calling Lexa again, after x weeks.

Clarke groans, pushing her face into her pillow. _But we’ve been doing so well without her,_ she thinks. _We were doing just fine._ But still, with her eyes closed, she finds herself feeling around for her phone, before opening one eye to scroll through her address book very _very_ slowly.

 _Lexa must be busy studying or something._ Even then, Clarke makes the call anyway. _She probably won’t even pick up._

“He-hello?” _Shit._ Clarke pushes the phone closer to her ear – _is that music in the background?_

“Hello?”

“Clarke, wait a sec,” says Lexa, raising her voice above the noise.

Clarke holds her breath until the music dies down. _Where is she?_ she thinks, barely stopping herself from answering her own question: _Having fun without me._

“Hello?” she says again. “ _Lexa?_ ”

“Hey.”

Clarke wonders how such a small sound could crowd up her chest so _significantly,_ but Lexa’s voice does exactly that anyway, pushing all the air out of Clarke’s lungs, and the words out of her head.

“Hey,” Clarke manages, after a while. She doesn’t mean for it to sound so tired; the least she could do after not talking with Lexa for so long is _not_ come across as horribly sad and exhausted. She clears her throat and tries for a cheerier tone: “Where are you?”

“At a party,” Lexa says, pausing like she’s considering whether to continue or just leave it at that. “At Costia’s. It’s Halloween.”

Clarke swallows hard. _The girl has a name,_ she thinks, trying not to breathe in too audibly. _What a beautiful name it is._ She tries to ignore the sharp, stabbing sensations in her chest as she manages a small laugh. “Of course. What are you coming as?”

“Excuse me?”

Clarke screws her eyes shut. _I am fucking this up, aren’t I._ “I meant, is it a costume kind of party, or—”

“Oh.” In that millisecond of a moment, Lexa actually laughs, and Clarke presses her phone closer to her ear, as if the sound would _stay_ if she did. “Sorry. I – I’m not in a costume. I guess it’s not really that sort of a party.”

“A boring one then,” says Clarke; it’s out _immediately,_ like she’s forgotten that they haven’t spoken for weeks. _I can still be comfortable around you, right?_ “What would you have come as, if required?”

“I wouldn’t have come in the first place, had a costume been required.”

 _Typical Lexa,_ Clarke thinks. “Even if Costia _insisted?_ ” The name rolls off her tongue just as easily, and Clarke holds her breath as she waits for Lexa’s response.

“I—” Lexa trails off, and Clarke wishes she knew if it was because of the thought of Costia, or the thought of _her_ actually saying Costia’s name. _This counts as progress, right?_ “Costia’s not that into Halloween,” says Lexa.

“I would have wanted you to go as some sort of furry animal. _Maybe_ a raccoon,” Clarke says, changing the topic. “Eye makeup. The works.”

“I _wouldn’t,_ ” says Lexa, and Clarke finds herself smiling at the thought of Lexa pouting through an eye makeup session. “And you would have come as?”

Clarke pauses to consider. “Maybe a sci-fi post-apocalyptic heroine. Tattered leather jackets and a long firearm,” she says. “The works.”

“And _I_ have to go as a raccoon. This is unfair.”

Clarke isn’t quite sure if she’s about to laugh or cry at the tone Lexa uses – half-petulant, half-deadpan. _My favorite Lexa._ “I miss your grumpy face.” Not that Clarke could have stopped that from getting out if she tried. There’s a sharp inhale at the other end of the line. _Lexa gets it._ “You never called,” Clarke tries gently, lowering her voice.

“Things just sort of got in the way, I guess,” says Lexa. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke considers her next words carefully. “Are you even,” she begins, before thinking, _No, that’s not it. Start again._ “Where are you spending New Year’s?”

There’s a noticeable pause on Lexa’s end, and suddenly Clarke feels a chill wrap around her heart. _What, she’s not coming home either?_ “We’re still thinking about it,” says Lexa, uncertainty miring her words. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

Clarke hangs onto the phone, quiet for a long moment. The words fill her chest, but nothing seems to feel _right._ Eventually, Clarke settles for, “Okay.” And then, “I should probably let you get back to that party.”

“Clarke.”

 _Say my name again._ Clarke shakes the thought off as soon as she has it. _The fuck is wrong with you, Griffin?_ Clarke clears her throat; puts on that cheery tone again. “ _Go._ Have fun tonight.”

Lexa hesitates, before: “Good night, Clarke.”

Clarke closes her eyes, imagining Lexa pedaling away from their doorstep on a summer night, the leaves falling in her wake. “Good night.”

*

For a split-second, Clarke considers taking them out to the lake for New Year’s -- for old times’ sake -- before deciding against it altogether. _Is Lexa’s bike even working?_ she wonders. _Costia might not even be into lakes._

_Besides, that lake is mine._

Clarke forces herself to blink. _Costia is family now,_ she chides herself. _Get your head out of the gutter._

“You okay?” When Clarke looks up, she sees Finn coming in from the backyard with his charcoal-stained apron. Clarke just nods and smiles at him, touching his arm. Finn smiles back, leans in and gives her a kiss. “Heard from Lexa yet?”

“They’d be here in a couple of hours,” says Clarke, leaning into Finn. _Reliable. Here. Mine._ “How’s the barbecue?”

“On-going,” says Finn, laughing lightly as he reaches over for the bottle of barbecue sauce. “How’s the salad?”

Clarke shrugs. “In a bit,” she says, and Finn narrows his eyes at her in mock-seriousness before heading back to the poolside, where they’ve set up the grill.

 _At least you’re seeing her again,_ Clarke tells herself. _At least, the gang’s all here._

And then: _At least, you’re meeting Costia for the first time._

Clarke inhales deeply at that; she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t spent a significant amount of time before finally falling asleep at night just _thinking_ about Costia – her demeanor; how she’d look like. _How she and Lexa would look like._ She tries not to imagine so much to the point of heartbreak.

 _Try,_ of course, being the operative term.

Clarke tries all afternoon. _Costia is family._ And then, _Lexa loves her._ Clarke tries not to pay attention to how the last three words feel like they’re puncturing holes in her heart.

*

When she opens the door, Clarke doesn’t know where to look first—she can’t linger on Lexa’s face without giving everything away, and clearly, she’s just met Costia.

Instead, Clarke opts for a hug, throwing her arms around a visibly stunned Lexa, before turning to the other woman and finally managing the much-rehearsed: “You must be Costia.”

Costia smiles at her, and right there Clarke sees it as it is – _goddamn, she’s beautiful._ Clarke reaches out to take her hand as Costia replies with, “Hello, Clarke.” Costia exhales audibly like she’s been holding her breath; _how adorable,_ Clarke thinks. _She was waiting, too._

“I have heard so much about you,” Clarke says. _It’s in the script; you’ll fuck it up if you don’t say everything_. She takes a chance and glances at Lexa, who holds her gaze with that soft-eyed look that _gets_ to Clarke in ways she cannot really explain.

 _There you are,_ Clarke almost says, and this is where everything starts going downhill: Her best friend brings a girl home, and of course, it’s only now that Clarke sees her _sees her._

What a fucking disaster.

*

Costia is soft, everywhere – it’s one of the first things Clarke finds out about her. She takes her hand and enlists her help with the salad – Costia does look like she’d know her way around a kitchen, and true enough, she does. Something about the woman is soothing, this much Clarke can tell, and it doesn’t take too long for them to relax around each other. _Just two girls making a salad,_ Clarke thinks, letting her shoulder press against Costia’s comfortably.

 _I could see why._ Clarke allows herself some time to stare at Costia when she’s not looking, feeling her heart skip, a little. _Lexa stood no chance._

I _stand no chance._

Clarke blinks again. _Costia is family._ Costia smiles at her as she turns the faucet on, and Clarke feels her chest tighten slightly, their hands touching under the water. Somewhere in the living room, she could hear the faint sound of bottles clinking together, and when she tilts her head to look she sees Finn talking to Lexa, beers in hand. She lets out a sigh.

“So,” Costia says. “How long have you and Finn been together?”

“Oh,” Clarke pauses, counting the years in her head. “Far too long. We were kids together.”

Costia nods, biting down at her lip. “And Lexa?”

Clarke forces out a small laugh at that to disguise just how _thrown_ she is, hearing how comfortably Lexa’s name slips out of Costia’s lips – so _familiar,_ like they’d known each other for _years._ “I was fifteen,” says Clarke, recovering. “She was my first friend when we moved here.” _This is all it is, Clarke. Don’t you remember?_

“You must have been such troublemakers, the three of you,” Costia says, and it’s out so _fondly_ thatClarke almost hears a tinge of longing there that she wishes she does not so easily recognize.

“Don’t look at me,” Clarke just says, reaching over for a grape in Costia’s pile. _Something to do with my hands._ “Lexa’s the troublemaker, basically.”

Costia laughs, and it’s a sound _so sweet_ Clarke wishes it doesn’t hurt so much.

*

Clarke looks away when Costia leans in to kiss Lexa’s cheek before disappearing back into the kitchen with Finn, their dirty dishes in her hands.

“Thanks for dinner, Clarke,” she hears Costia say, a hand on her shoulder briefly.

 _I stand no chance._ Clarke picks up the bottle of wine and refills her glass. “She’s lovely,” she finds herself saying, the moment she realizes they’re finally alone – the first time in a very long time. “I’m glad we finally met.”

Lexa pauses, tilting her head up, like she’s looking for stars. “I’m sorry it took so long,” says Lexa. “I’m sorry about term break.”

Clarke pauses at that, waiting for the ache to pass. _Term break._ She waits for Lexa to meet her eyes, but she’s looking _everywhere_ else but at Clarke, and it’s frustrating, somewhat. “Don’t worry about it,” Clarke says. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

“Thanks.” When Lexa exhales, it reminds Clarke that this must be as strained for her, too. “Nice work on the renovations,” says Lexa, changing the subject.

“I guess Dad wanted me to stop going to the lake,” Clarke says lightly, and right then Lexa turns her gaze at her. _Hello,_ Clarke almost says out loud, trying to push away the memory of that girl on their lawn that afternoon, her legs all dirty with grease.

 _This is not that girl anymore,_ Clarke reminds herself, but the way Lexa looks at her: This soft, clear-eyed Lexa; this Lexa she has missed all this while. _How is this suddenly so hard?_

Clarke forces herself to blink, and Lexa looks away, laughing.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” says Lexa, shaking her head. “I just remember the first time we met. Your bike was broken.”

 _Did you read my mind?_ Clarke nods and laughs herself. “It was,” she says. “I would have invited you and Costia to the lake, but I wasn’t sure you were up for a bike ride.”

“I’m not even sure if my bike still works,” Lexa says. “Besides, I don’t have an extra. I don’t think that old bike could carry both Costia and I.”

Clarke tries not to imagine Lexa and Costia sharing the same bike; the hem of Costia’s skirt fluttering in the wind. “We would have looked cute trying,” she says, trying to make light of it.

“We would have looked like ridiculous overgrown teenagers about to have an accident,” Lexa replies fondly. The smile comes easy now, and she lifts her glass casually. “More wine?”

Hiding her surprise, Clarke goes ahead and pours Lexa another. “We should see the lake sometime before you leave.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” says Lexa coolly, sipping her wine.

 _Bullshit._ “We could borrow Finn’s bike. It would be quick. I’ll talk to Costia, we’ll be back after an hour—”

“Clarke.”

“Come on, Lex,” Clarke pleads. _Might as well play it as it is._ “Lexa, _please._ ”

Lexa drains her wine glass and says nothing; Clarke tries to smile as she moves to stand. “Where are you going?” Lexa asks.

“Inside. Where Costia is with Finn.”

“Clarke—”

“Come on – are you telling me you’ve forgotten how to ride a bike?” Clarke turns her head briefly, if only to see Lexa go slightly pale; she can’t help the small smile that plays in her lips at the sight.

*

Lexa takes Finn’s bike; Clarke had offered hers, originally, but Lexa kept refusing it. “Finn’s bike is fine,” she says. “I don’t want you to get into an accident by getting on an unfamiliar bike.” A pause. “But it’s still a horrible idea.”

Clarke just smiles as she starts pedaling out of their yard, breathing in the crisp night air. When she looks over her shoulder, Lexa’s following right behind her, struggling to find her balance.

“Did you hear me?” Lexa calls out. “This is a horrible idea!”

Clarke just laughs, pedaling harder. “Lexa, come on!” she says, letting out a small scream as they break past their street’s row of houses, the excitement seeping through her skin. The night is pleasantly warm and the moon is bright; Clarke’s chest fills with things for which she has no words. “What’s taking you so long?”

And Lexa actually _growls –_ the sound puts a shiver through Clarke that she chooses to ignore. “This is not my bike, and I’m not about to break it!” Lexa snaps back, her shaky tone eliciting another laugh off Clarke.

 _What a night this is turning out to be,_ Clarke just thinks, letting a cold gust of wind blow past as they zip through the path in the dark, familiar like the back of the proverbial hand.

Clarke’s breath hitches at the sight of the lake under the moonlight. Slowly, she sets her bike against a nearby tree, not too far from where Lexa’s standing quietly herself. _This feels like it’s been ages since the last time._

“I told you,” Clarke says, after a while. “This was going to be worth it.”

_It’s always worth it with you._

*

Clarke moves to sit by the lakeshore first, patting the space beside her tentatively as an open invitation to Lexa, who follows suit shortly. Carefully, Lexa lowers herself on the ground, mindful of the space between.

“Did you think I would not understand?” Clarke chooses to break the silence first. The quiet is deafening around the lake, and honestly, Clarke couldn’t quite take it anymore – all these questions crowding her throat.

“What?” asks Lexa, just as quietly.

“Costia. Did you not think I would get it?” Clarke explains. And then, dropping her voice even further: “The whole _being in love with a girl_ thing.” She avoids Lexa’s gaze, afraid of what she might see there. Instead, Clarke chews on her lip nervously, waiting for Lexa’s reaction. “Was that why you never called?”

Lexa breathes in deeply before letting out a long, shaky breath. “It’s more complicated than that,” she just says.

“So you _did_ think I wouldn’t understand.”

“ _Clarke,_ ” Lexa sighs. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do with Clarke’s question.

 _Back up, Clarke,_ she tells herself. _Back up, now._ “I don’t mean to come at you like this,” she ends up saying. “But… I want to understand. Okay?” she pauses to gather the rest of the words that are so quickly getting out of her head. “And this is—university has been _lonely,_ and god, do you know just how much I had looked forward to term break?”

“I—” Lexa trails off, flustered.

 _This is not how it’s supposed to go._ “No, listen, I don’t mean—” Clarke swallows the rest of the words, because they’re _not_ what she’s supposed to say. _I don’t mean to blame you. I don’t mean to blame Costia. I don’t know what I’m saying._ “I’m sorry, everything’s coming out wrong, I wonder—” Clarke breathes in sharply, remembering the Saturday nights and the clipped phone calls. “I wonder how Finn manages to put up with all this.”

Of everything she says, Lexa seems to have the strongest reaction to that. “Finn puts up with _nothing_ ,” she says, her hand suddenly gripping Clarke’s forearm. For a moment, Clarke is stunned; scalded. “Listen,” Lexa breathes out, hand softening around Clarke’s arm. “I’m sorry. Okay?” And then: “Let’s do better at this… _us thing._ Okay?”

 _This you and me thing?_ Clarke sniffs, quiet for a long while. _But what would that mean?_ “This _us_ thing,” she just repeats, like she’s testing how the words weigh on her own tongue. “Okay.”

Just like that, it feels like a truce. Clarke scoots closer and rests her head against Lexa’s shoulder, just as she hears Lexa draw in a long breath.

 _A good place to start as any,_ Clarke just thinks, letting the quiet sounds of the lake take over, for now.

*

On her last day in town, Lexa shows up at Clarke’s doorstep, holding a package to her chest. The knock comes in the middle of Finn’s breakfast prep, and Clarke heads to the door, unmindful of how disheveled she still looks at this hour.

“These are long overdue,” is how Lexa greets her. _How are you already so put together in the morning?_ Clarke wonders, letting out a lazy yawn.

“ _What_ are long overdue?” Clarke asks, before opening her door wider. “You, on the other hand, are just in time. Finn’s just about finished with the pancakes.” She turns back toward the kitchen, if only to include Finn in the conversation. “Hey babe, Lexa’s here.”

To which Finn responds with, “Hi Lexa,” the sound mixing in with the noise of pots and pans. “I think some of this is actually edible.”

Clarke turns back to Lexa, laughing a little. “You better not leave me alone to finish all of Finn’s borderline edible cooking.”

“Actually—” Lexa breathes in and looks over her shoulder. Clarke is pleasantly surprised to see Lexa’s bike in the driveway. _Still here after all these years,_ Clarke thinks, but something about Lexa’s tone cautions Clarke against being too hopeful. “I have to get back to Costia. We’re leaving in a few.”

 _Pull yourself together, Clarke._ She tries her best not to frown, and settles for a pout instead. “What is this anyway?” she asks, finally reaching for the giftwrapped thing in Lexa’s hands.

“It’s just—” Lexa trails off, preferring to watch as Clarke continues tearing through the wrapping anyway, excited and curious.

When the first corner of it reveals itself to be a part of a very familiar whole, Clarke goes, _Shit,_ biting down on her tongue. _Is this—_

 _Christ._ Clarke carefully slips one of her framed paintings of the lake out of the package. “ _Lexa._ ” Clarke swallows hard, but her voice betrays her and breaks anyhow. “How—you _kept_ these?” There are at least _five_ framed works in the bundle, some of which Clarke even _remembers_ having specifically instructed Lexa to destroy on account of her dissatisfaction with them at the time. _She never said anything about keeping them._

Lexa looks away, and Clarke tries not to cry. “I thought maybe you’d want some of them back,” Lexa says. “Your new walls could use a view of the lake.” She’s even smiling shyly, like she’s totally pleased with what she’s just done, but she doesn’t want Clarke to see. “How do you like the frames?”

There are words in Clarke’s throat, and none of them are enough. “They’re _lovely,_ ” Clarke says, touching the surface gingerly. “Thank you.”

“They’re just—”

 _Oh, fuck it,_ Clarke thinks, interrupting Lexa’s response with a kiss on the cheek, her lips brushing against the soft skin there; that light blush upon it under the sun. Instead of words, all that’s left in Clarke’s throat is her _heart,_ and _fuck it, really,_ she tells herself _,_ throwing her arms around Lexa even, pulling her in and burying her face into the crook of her neck.

When she breathes in, Lexa still smells like all the summers that have gone by. “Call me when you get there?”

“I will,” says Lexa, clearing her throat.

_We are not going to cry._

“I really have to go.”

“Okay.” Clarke watches Lexa bike away, standing by the doorway with her paintings close to her chest, waiting for Lexa to round the bend before coming back in and closing the door.

*

Things get better after New Year’s; Lexa calls often, and somewhere along the way, Clarke transitions from being pleased to being worried.

 _Is everything okay?_ she wants to ask, but Lexa sounds so _eager_ to share her day that Clarke chooses to keep quiet instead. Often, she thinks about Costia and feels guilty, like she were _stealing_ these words from her.

“Hey Clarke?” Lexa asks. “You all right?”

_Where’s Costia?_

_Are you sure this is okay?_

“I’m great,” Clarke says instead. “I love hearing from you.”

_So your best friend checks in on you once a week. Absolutely nothing wrong with that, right?_

_Right?_

*

It’s a rainy summer, but Clarke doesn’t mind – Lexa comes around on the first day, damp from the drizzle, a bag of chips in tow.

“Some summer this is,” says Lexa, shaking the rain out of her hair.

Clarke resists the urge to touch. _Yeah, some summer,_ she almost says, handing Lexa a towel. “Don’t get sick, Lex.” Outside, thunder starts rumbling, and Clarke pulls Lexa toward the couch, turning on the TV and swinging her leg over Lexa’s lap.

 _Like old times_ , Clarke thinks _. You and me and a summer storm._ Lexa says nothing; just sinks comfortably with her, hand on Clarke’s ankle, kneading absently.

Clarke can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips. _Some summer this is,_ she thinks, leaning into the touch. For the first time in so long, it feels like finally, they have time.

*

On days when it doesn’t rain, Lexa chooses to hang around the Griffin pool. She often comes over early and Clarke makes breakfast for two, just in case Lexa’s still hungry; she almost always is.

Clarke likes the quiet of the early hours; likes watching Lexa drinking coffee as she looks out at the water, her legs tucked underneath her. There’s a strange peace to Lexa here that feels too intimate; there are times even Clarke feels like she’s _intruding_ just by being able to look at her.

“Lex?” This is much later, when their mugs have been washed and they’re now sunning themselves right beside the pool, lying on the grass with their faces to the sky, their sunglasses on.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Clarke listens as Lexa lifts her head slightly, like she wants to pay better attention. “Go ahead,” she says, tone wary, as if she feels how the rest of Clarke’s statement is about to go.

A pause. “You haven’t mentioned Costia,” Clarke finally manages, lowering her voice. “ _At all._ ”

Lexa takes a moment to look at her before lying back on the ground, sighing. “That is _not_ a question.”

Clarke bites her lip. “I was just wondering if you’re okay.”

There’s a quiet moment before Lexa goes, “We’re done.” It’s out so simply that Clarke has to sit up, take her sunglasses off and look at Lexa, as if doing so would _clarify_ things. “Before the term finished. It ended amicably.” Clarke stares as Lexa keeps still, her eyes closed.

“What?” Clarke asks as Lexa opens one eye.

“You heard me.”

“ _Lexa._ ” Clarke finds it hard to breathe. _How am I hearing this only now? We talked every week._

“What?”

“Talk to me.” Clarke sits cross-legged on the grass, watching as Lexa stays on the ground; Clarke can see that her eyes are closed behind her sunglasses, and it _infuriates_ Clarke slightly, how Lexa can be so _calm_ in giving out this particular piece of information. “Get the fuck up, Lexa.

Lexa doesn’t move; instead, she keeps her hands tightly clasped on her stomach. “What’s _your_ problem?”

 _My problem?_ Clarke wants to ask back. _My problem is that you’re my newly broken up best friend, and you refuse to talk to me._ Instead, Clarke finds herself making a small, frustrated sound. “Fine then, suit yourself,” she says, pushing herself off the ground. She looks up, squinting at the mid-morning sun before taking her shirt off. “I’m going for a swim.” She leaves Lexa behind; _perhaps she needs the space to think?_

The water is warm to the touch, and Clarke sinks into the shallow end with a soft sigh. _She’s shutting me out,_ Clarke thinks, swimming idly to the other end. _Lexa’s single, and she’s shutting me out._

 _Lexa’s single._ Clarke dips fully into the water, emerging slowly with a long exhale and shaking the water out of her hair. _Fuck. How is this a problem?_

_What’s your problem?_

Clarke swims toward the pool edge close to where Lexa’s still lazily sprawled; when Clarke looks up, she finds Lexa eyeing her from behind her sunglasses.

“How’s the water?” Lexa asks, tentatively dipping her leg into the pool. Clarke swims closer, resting her elbows upon the edge and wiping at her face. When she looks up at Lexa, she is silhouetted against the sun, bright behind her head like a halo.

“Are we talking now?”

Lexa shrugs, and right then, she’s slipping out of her clothes and into the water, barely making a splash. Clarke holds her breath, as if she were drowning; their bodies warm under the water. “Maybe,” Lexa says. “Seriously, Clarke. I don’t want to bore you with it.”

 _“Bore_ me?” Clarks laughs, scooting closer to Lexa to nudge her with her hip. Water splashes between them and when Lexa laughs low, it puts a curious buzz in Clarke’s belly. _Get yourself together, Griffin._ “This is, like, our _first_ break-up story. This is what best friends are specifically made for.”

_This is what best friends are for. This is what best friends are. This is what—Griffin, are you even listening to yourself?_

Beside her, Lexa goes completely under the water before emerging a handful of moments later, her hair wet and her face dripping. “Costia didn’t think it was going anywhere,” says Lexa, wiping the water out of her eyes. “It was for the best.”

 _Bullshit,_ Clarke thinks, remembering Costia from New Year’s; remembering how _good_ they seemed together, Clarke’s own feelings be damned. _She was good for you. She was good. Weren’t you going to sail off into whatever sunset and live happily ever after, a million cats between you?_

_Weren’t you going to be happy forever?_

Instead, Clarke settles with: “But you guys were so adorable together.”

Lexa fixes her with a look. “Not helping, Clarke.”

“Sorry.” Before she could stop herself, she’s reaching out to touch Lexa’s chin, tracing the path of a lone drop of water with her thumb. _Stop this,_ Clarke tells herself, her hand shaking. Lexa looks away, and Clarke asks: “How can I help?”

Lexa takes a deep breath and tilts her face toward the sun; Clarke looks up in kind, marveling at the clouds flitting by.

“I mean. If you need my help,” Clarke adds.

“It’s just a broken heart; it’s not fatal,” says Lexa, trying to keep her tone light.

 _It’s still your heart—can’t you see? That’s why it matters to me._ “Actually, I read somewhere in the New York Times—” Clarke says, reaching for Lexa under the water. Her hand slips into Lexa’s effortlessly, and Lexa stiffens slightly before eventually relaxing into the hold.

“I’ll be fine,” Lexa says, squeezing tentatively.

 _So will I._ Clarke breathes in. “And I’ll be here.”

*

They still go to the lake. Some days, Clarke feels like going for a ride, and Lexa more often than not indulges her, though she’s always maintained that her biking skills are at best shaky.

“Muscle memory, Lex,” Clarke says. “There are things the body does not forget.”

Lexa just raises her brow at that, grinning at Clarke like she does not believe her.

Later, Lexa scrapes her knee from a bad fall while on the way home from the lake, her bike skidding off the path. Clarke sees the fall clearly, her heart stopping as Lexa hits the ground. _Shit._ Clarke rolls to a stop carefully right behind her, watching Lexa as she stays for a moment on the ground, her bloodied knee up.

“Hey,” Clarke says, approaching slowly. “Let’s get you cleaned at home.”

“Not with your hose, I hope,” Lexa says, trying to smile through her wince. Clarke rolls her eyes, pulling Lexa up. And then, perhaps off the look of worry on Clarke’s face: “It looks worse than it feels.”

They walk their bikes home, slowing down to accommodate Lexa’s limp. (“God, it’s been _eons_ since I last fell off a bike, you know?”) Clarke tries not to laugh; it feels like they’ve turned the years back a few, and right here, they are kids again, perfectly okay about falling and skinning their knees.

When they get to Clarke’s, Lexa sinks onto the couch slowly, careful not to stain it with blood, as Clarke disappears into the bathroom to get the bandages and the antiseptic. They’ve done this before – more often with Clarke’s gashes, as she’s often the clumsy one – but as Clarke gets down on one knee to tend to Lexa, she realizes just how much _younger_ they had been, back then.

Clarke swallows hard as Lexa hisses at first swipe. “Hold still,” Clarke murmurs.

“I’m not five, Clarke.” Lexa scowls throughout, and Clarke has to laugh while dressing the wound; she doesn’t trust herself to make any other sound.

When they’re done, Clarke flattens the edges of the bandage with her fingertips, smoothing them over the skin of Lexa’s knee. Lexa hisses, long and drawn out, so when Clarke is finally done, she leans in and plants a kiss upon the bandage – a gesture meant to be playful, yes, though the way Lexa seems to freeze underneath it worries Clarke, in the end.

 _The fuck was I thinking._ “All fixed,” she just says, as the look on Lexa’s face softens.

“Thanks,” says Lexa. They spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet, this time with Lexa’s legs on Clarke’s lap, her hand around Lexa’s ankle light.

*

Clarke knows there are nights Lexa doesn’t sleep well; Lexa doesn’t even have to say it out loud. Clarke notices when she looks a bit more exhausted than usual, and though Clarke would never openly point it out, she thinks Lexa knows she _knows._ No words required.

So when the calls start coming at three in the morning, Clarke isn’t really that surprised.

“Clarke?”

“It’s three in the morning, Lexa,” Clarke whispers. She’s already in bed, but she’s wide awake under the sheets.

“I know, sorry—it’s just—”

“I _know,”_ Clarke says, wrapping the sheets around her tighter. She tries not to imagine Lexa at this hour – wide-eyed and haunted. “Was it another dream?”

Lexa breathes out shakily. “Yeah.” Lexa doesn’t like going into the details; Clarke assumes it’s something with Costia, some intimate memory that would be ultimately inappropriate to share. It stings, slightly.

“You okay?”

There’s a lengthy pause before Lexa replies with: “No.” Her voice is so soft, defeated; almost afraid. Clarke feels her heart beat harder; hard enough for her to feel it thrumming in her ear.

“Want me to bike over?”

Lexa sighs. “It’s three in the morning, Clarke.”

 _Like that’s going to stop me._ Clarke pushes herself out of bed, rummaging into her drawers for something to wear in the early morning cold. “Three-ten, actually,” she says casually, slipping into her shoes. “I’m serious, Lexa.”

Lexa swallows hard, then falls silent for a while. When she speaks again, her voice is so low that Clarke almost doesn’t recognize it. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Three in the morning, and _already_ Clarke’s heart is broken. “Hang on,” she says, pocketing her phone and keys and closing the front door gently behind her before getting on her bike. The road is dark and slightly foggy, and deep in her gut she feels a sort of dread. She almost backs out even, if not for the voice in her head: _She needs you._

 _Lexa_ and _need_ are not easily related things in Clarke’s book; she knows a crucial moment when she sees one. _Hang on._ Zipping her hoodie up, Clarke begins a steady pedal toward Lexa’s, all the sounds around her amplified in the all too quiet street.

When she gets to Lexa’s, she sees her sitting on the steps, tugging her jacket close. Like this Lexa looks even smaller – _frail-er,_ if that’s even a word. Clarke rides up to the entrance before abandoning her bike as soon as Lexa comes within reach.

“You’re here,” Lexa murmurs into her hair.

“I’m here,” says Clarke, gathering Lexa closer.

*

Lexa falls asleep first; Clarke makes damn sure. She lets Lexa rest her head in the crook of her neck, and Lexa falls asleep right in the middle of a meandering story about a book that Lexa is reading. Clarke doesn’t mind; Lexa can read the fucking water bill, and Clarke would listen to her all day, if she had to.

Clarke doesn’t catch herself falling asleep; the last thing she remembers is Lexa shifting in the middle of the night, and having to follow the curve Lexa’s body makes on the bed. Clarke has an arm carefully wrapped around Lexa’s waist – not too tight for breathing, but close enough to be _present._

When Clarke wakes the following morning, Lexa is already shifting beside her, their limbs tangled together, Clarke’s face dangerously burrowed into Lexa’s chest. Clarke breathes in; she’s not awake enough yet to process all _this,_ and when she moves her head, she feels the tug of Lexa’s fingers threaded into her hair.

 _Oh,_ Clarke thinks, attempting to stretch. Lexa freezes, as if alerted suddenly of Clarke’s awake state. Clarke grips her close, hand firm on Lexa’s hip. _Can she hear the thudding in my chest?_ Clarke’s mind clouds with the lavender on Lexa’s skin. “What time is it?”

Lexa’s so close that Clarke could actually hear her swallow. “Six-thirty.” _Too fucking early for anything,_ Clarke nearly groans, feeling Lexa try to slip from her grasp. “ _Clarke._ ”

 _No._ Clarke tugs her closer. _I’ll deal with this later._ “No, stay,” she says, keeping her eyes closed. “You’re warm.”

There’s a tense moment before Lexa finally relaxes back into Clarke, warm and soft and _here_. _Mine,_ Clarke almost thinks, before mentally erasing it. She burrows closer to Lexa instead.

“Okay then,” says Lexa, voice soft, like morning.

“Go back to sleep.”

*

Of course, Clarke _deals with it later_ – again and again, actually. She spends the night often, and wakes to Lexa every time. Clarke doesn’t understand the logic behind this either -- soon, summer will be over, and Lexa will be gone, and what then?

Clarke tries not to overthink it; _Lexa’s here isn’t she?_ she reminds herself every time, and most times, it calms her down.

If Lexa has her own reservations about the setup, she doesn’t really let Clarke know; nothing new, of course, for when has Lexa been actually transparent about her feelings? But then, Clarke feels her relax into their newfound habit, day after day; some mornings, Lexa no longer freezes upon realizing that Clarke’s already awake, and it lessens Clarke’s worries, somewhat.

Clarke waits for the novelty to fade as the summer wears on; _certainly, after a while, all of this would be all too ordinary?_ she tries assuring herself. Of course, the moment doesn’t come; each time Clarke wakes to Lexa pressed against her feels always new, and each time, Clarke tries not to think about how the thing in her chest _could get used to this._

 _Don’t be ridiculous, Clarke,_ she tells herself in those early morning hours. _Summer’s ending. What then?_

 _Later,_ Clarke thinks, every time she sinks back into sleep, lost in Lexa’s curls and sheets.

*

Of course, it’s a problem.

Clarke tries not to think too much about it. _So what if the bed feels empty,_ she thinks. So what if she’s been running through this page for the past half-hour, distracted by ghosts. _Is this how Lexa felt with Costia gone?_

The lump in her throat grows. _Was that all it was?_  

Clarke shuts her book and falls back into bed, idly scratching at the waistband of her shorts. _Fuck,_ Clarke thinks, catching herself.

Of _course_ , it’s not only a problem – it’s a _disaster_.

*

Clarke calls eventually, unable to take the silence. She figures she’s been in no shape to call – she doesn’t want to come off as too _clingy,_ lest she actually scare Lexa off with the utterly unsubtle way she’s handled their summer. _Pull yourself together Griffin,_ she thinks, just as she makes the call.

Lexa answers on the third ring. “Hey.” She sounds strained and _tired,_ like she’s been losing sleep, and Clarke shifts from nervous to _worried_ in a split-second.

“Hey,” Clarke greets back. “You sound exhausted. You all right?”

There’s a quiet moment on the other end that pushes Clarke back to _nervous. Jesus, is there any way I’ll get out of this phone call alive._ “I haven’t been sleeping well,” says Lexa, voice hoarse. “I suppose it’s just my body adjusting.”

 _Adjusting to what?_ Clarke almost asks. _Because my body—_ Clarke forces her eyes shut. _Goddamn it, Clarke._ A quiet sigh escapes her lips. “Mine, too,” she says, pushing the sheets off her legs, because _Christ,_ this night is warmer than usual, and Lexa’s voice isn’t helping. “Guess the summer spoiled us.”

And the sound Lexa makes at that – a soft hum that has Clarke on the edge of _something. Fuck this,_ she thinks; the sheets feel like they’re _burning_ underneath her, and Clarke doesn’t know where to start. “Clarke?”

 _I should have seen this coming._ Clarke presses her phone closer to her ear, trying to ignore the steadily growing _heaviness_ in her belly. “Yeah?” She hopes her voice doesn’t give her away.

There’s shifting on the other end of the line, and Clarke feels her heartbeat ringing in her ear. _Jesus Christ, Lexa._

_Is this hard for you, too?_

Lexa swallows audibly before speaking, though the sound she manages is barely a voice: “Just—keep talking?”

 _Fuck._ Clarke takes a moment to push all these images of Lexa out of her head. _She needs you._ Clarke’s mouth is dry, but she goes ahead and says, “Okay.” The sound that comes out is barely a voice, either, and Clarke listens in closer as her own chest empties out, the beating there for a moment gone. _Fuck it then._

“You, too?” Clarke’s voice breaks at the end of it, and for one terrified moment she thinks she’s _lost this,_ all of it, and _fuck, way to go Griffin,_ she tells herself, as images of Lexa in the summer zip past in her head in one shaky blur.

At the other end, Lexa keeps breathing, and it makes Clarke want to scream. _Say something, for fuck’s sake._ She tries not to imagine Lexa in bed right now; wants to ask, _is this as horrible a mess for you as it is—_

“Yeah,” says Lexa. “Fuck. Okay.”

 _Okay?_ Clarke bites down on her lip hard; clearly, _nothing_ is okay, but Clarke stays with her anyway, trying to ignore the small sighs, the brief hitches in her breathing. _Any moment now,_ Clarke thinks, and who knew she could hold her breath for such extended periods of time. _Hang on, she needs you._

Clarke tries to launch into a semi-normal conversation— _I have to keep talking,_ she reminds herself, and so she does, keeping her voice low, talking about something beautiful – say, a piece of art they studied earlier in her Art Appreciation class, and _Christ,_ Clarke feels Lexa shaking through the phone.

“You all right?” she asks. _Are you close?_ Clarke shuts her eyes and grips her sheets with her other hand tighter. There’s the tell-tale creak of a bed frame on the other end, that rhythmic rustling of sheets. _Fuck, we’re really doing this aren’t we._ “Can I—Can I keep going?”

_Can you?_

Lexa does not say anything, not for a while, but she speaks to Clarke in _ruinous_ sounds. Clarke holds onto her phone tighter, trying her best not to fucking _whimper. Oh god,_ Clarke thinks. _Is she—_

_“Clarke.”_

Clarke sits up at the sound of her name – desperate and needy and _urgent,_ and Clarke almost says Lexa’s name back, if not for Lexa following it up with a quick and breathy, “I have to go,” that final “o” of it barely making it through.

 _Shit._ There’s a soft thud on the other end as the line is cut. _Shit._ There’s no stopping the flood of images from rushing into Clarke’s head: Lexa, with her eyes shut and her lips parted; Lexa, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her hand down her underwear.

_Fuck._

*

They don’t talk for weeks, and Clarke tries her best not to touch herself to the memory of her best friend _touching herself_ over the phone; tries not to think about the way Lexa said her name, whenever she does.

(Always, it plays like a recording in Clarke’s mind: That hitch; that way Lexa seems to choke on Clarke’s name right before the sound slips out; _Clarke, Clarke. God._ Always, Clarke comes the hardest, and she goes for _weeks_ not quite knowing what to do with it.)

*

Finn could tell, just how much things have changed over the summer, and Clarke doesn’t quite know how to handle him either: How he tries to understand; how he hangs around, like he’s just waiting for Clarke to finally say something.

When Clarke says nothing, Finn asks for the break himself.  Clarke sees it coming from a mile away.

*

On the night Clarke breaks, they’re in the midst of midterms, and Clarke doesn’t know _how_ exactly she goes from _God I mustn’t call her_ to _Fuck it, I’m going to call her until she answers._ She holds her phone to her ear as she tries to re-read for the nth time the same paragraph she’s been trying to absorb for the past half-hour, all the while trying to keep distracting thoughts of Lexa at bay.

 _Christ,_ Clarke thinks, rubbing at her eyes. _This is getting out of hand._ Lexa’s phone rings and rings, and Clarke feels the _need_ scratching at the walls of her gut, over and over, until—

“Hello? Clarke?”

 _Shit._ Clarke nearly drops her phone in surprise, but she recovers well enough to ask back, “Have you been avoiding my calls?” _Because clearly that is the first thing I should tell my best friend, with whom I haven’t spoken for so long._ Clarke kneads at her temple with two fingers.

“We’re in the middle of _midterms,_ ” Lexa says easily. Clarke can hear her turning pages on the other end of the line, and Clarke curses herself for being so inept at this. _I mean, look at Lexa – well-adjusted and coping._ “Besides, not like _you_ were any better at taking my calls.”

Clarke has to let out a small laugh at that. _That was that_ one _time,_ she almost blurts out, though she manages to hold that in. “Point taken,” she says instead. She’s not about to get into a petty argument with Lexa – not when she has far more important things in her head. _Such as._ “So. We are… okay here, right?” Clarke ventures, pausing as Lexa draws in a sharp breath. _She knows what I’m talking about._ “And this is not—”

“ _Clarke,_ ” Lexa interrupts firmly. “We’re in the middle of _midterms._ ”

Clarke stares helplessly at her open notes on the table; the unfinished reviewers, her still-open highlighters, the pens strewn all over. _You think?_ “I _know_ ,” she admits. “Just. I can’t focus, okay? I keep thinking about—”

“ _Clarke._ ” The way she says her name now – there’s that familiar shake in her voice again, and Lexa’s breath comes in irregular bursts. _Is this hard for you too?_ “Please,” Lexa says, voice low; Clarke barely holds in the moan that gets caught in her throat. “I _need--_ ”

 _Fuck._ “What?” Clarke hisses. _What do you need, Lex? Because I, too, need—_

There’s a pause before Lexa clears her throat, and it sobers Clarke up, somewhat. “I _need_ to finish studying for my exam.”

Just like that, the moment’s broken, and Clarke feels herself deflating like a balloon. “ _Oh,_ ” she just says quietly. “I should leave it to you then.”

Lexa sighs, like she wants to make amends. “Sorry, Clarke. Maybe… some other time? I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” _Oh, sweet hope._ Clarke tries not to feel too much of it. “Good luck on your midterms.”

“You, too.”

Clarke ends the call first, hands shaky. _What the fuck was I thinking?_

*

Here’s how Clarke copes with the rest of the term: She runs. In the absence of Finn, she does not have much else, apart from her classes, and that Art Appreciation elective that takes her every so often to new museums, and she figures: _Maybe it’s all excess energy._ So she runs – she plugs her earphones in, listens to Tove Lo or Tegan and Sara. Not that _that_ helps, in particular ( _I want you close, I want you--_ ) but at least, it’s something to fill the hours with.

It also helps that it’s exhausting, in that Clarke no longer has to _help herself_ toward sleep. ( _Christ, what have I become?_ she asks herself on occasion _._ )

Clarke discovers yoga after boxing – she finds it difficult to run on rainy days, hence the need to find an indoor preoccupation, and at the time one of the girls in her Art Appreciation elective was taking up boxing in a nearby gym. “To get over a nasty break-up,” was what she said, and Clarke just thought, _Why not?_

Clarke goes thrice – she does get the appeal; hitting things is such a surprisingly satisfying activity, even if it only involves sandbags hanging from the ceiling. There’s a certain rush to sparring, too – dealing with moving targets that may or may not hit back. If only it hadn’t fucked with her hands too much – the impact puts an uncomfortable tremor in her fingers, and Clarke finds its effect on her pencil-holding hand at best worrisome.

So she crosses that out (with a heavy heart) and resorts to yoga instead, joining a class another classmate is frequenting. Unlike boxing and running, it involves a lot of staying put, predictably, and through most of it, Clarke wishes she had the patience to stay still. That, and the ability to focus on the instructor and to _not_ let her eyes wander around the room or to anyone else, _most especially_ that one classmate whose flowing curls seem so similar to Lexa’s.

(Though really, who is Clarke kidding – _Lexa is everywhere._ )

*

Clarke is actually busy when end of term rolls around – she’s almost out on a run when Lexa’s phone call reaches her.

“Hello?” Lexa’s tone is adorably uncertain, like she’s wondering if she dialed a wrong number by accident.

“You’re horrible at promising to call people,” Clarke says in a mock-stern voice.

“I know,” says Lexa sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll only forgive you if you’re coming home for the term break.”

There’s shuffling of papers on the other end of the line. _Is it not term break for Lexa yet?_ Clarke wonders if Lexa’s still studying for an exam.  “Well,” she says finally. “That’s a pretty attractive incentive.”

Clarke raises her brow at that. “And since when has hanging out with your best friend not been an attractive enough incentive?”

Sighing, Lexa relents. “Fine,” she says. “Might as well make a little vacation of it.”

 _A little vacation._ Clarke likes the sound of that; likes imagining the two of them drinking margaritas by the pool, or sharing a bottle of wine by the lake. Ultimately, she is unable to keep a laugh in, and after a moment, Lexa even laughs along; just two girls planning a vacation in the middle of it all. No big deal.

*

They agree on post-dinner drinks, because even Clarke isn’t sure she can take _dinner_ just yet. She paces around the house, all unprotected bundle of nerves, and she actually jumps a little when the knock comes on the door.

Lexa arrives on her bike, as expected, and Clarke greets her at the door with a hug and a quick kiss – all gestures so automatic that Clarke doesn’t even have the time to evaluate how _appropriate_ they are, given the things that have happened in between.

Clarke decides to just wing it. _It’s just Lexa,_ she reminds herself, as she leads her into the kitchen and hands her a drink. “Cheers,” she even manages, holding Lexa’s hand as they make their way to the backyard.

Clarke moves for the water first. For a moment, Lexa looks at her like she’s crazy – well, the night _is_ somewhat chilly – but then Clarke just laughs as she pulls her pants to her knees and just dips her legs in. She sighs upon finding that the water is surprisingly warm.

Lexa follows suit, sitting beside her with her pants rolled up, sipping from her beer idly. “No stars tonight,” she says, after a while.

The night sky is clouded over; it saddens Clarke, somewhat. “Takes a while lately,” she just says. “How was your trip?”

“Ass-numbing,” Lexa says, looking at Clarke. The tone Lexa uses is light and playful, and Clarke can’t help but smile, nudging Lexa’s foot under the water. “Yours?”

“Quick and painless, actually,” Clarke replies, smug. “Asleep for most of it.”

Lexa groans. “You’re clearly talented,” she just says, as she lifts her beer for a toast. “Here’s to the next twelve days.”

 _Twelve._ Clarke hadn’t even realized they only had so much time. “Indeed,” she says softly, clinking her bottle against Lexa’s, just as they fall into a comfortable quiet. Like this, Lexa feels so _familiar,_ like Clarke doesn’t have to strain to fill the silences with _something._

“So,” Clarke says, after a while. Her beer is almost done. “What are your plans?”

Lexa takes a moment to look up, and when Clarke follows her gaze, she sees that the sky is now clear and dark enough for stars. _Finally,_ Clarke thinks. There’s that twinkle in Lexa’s eyes again that Clarke has missed. “I’m not sure,” Lexa says, finishing her beer. “I came back for you.”

 _For me._ Clarke tries to keep her breathing steady though her heart feels too overgrown for her chest. “Sounds like a good plan,” she just says.

*

It starts raining; of course it does. Clarke’s in the middle of telling Lexa about Finn when the first raindrops start falling, and Clarke stumbles back into the house first, knees now curiously absent. _Just how much have we had to drink?_ She wonders dimly, as she tries to make it to the living room without breaking anything.

The house is dark, and Clarke doesn’t bother with the lights. She locates the couch and sinks easily into it, barely registering the small drunken yelp behind her. Clarke laughs softly as Lexa stumbles into the couch after her, their warm limbs touching in the dark. _Shit._ Clarke remembers the beer in her hand and drains it.

“Shit, sorry – your carpet,” Lexa mutters. She gestures to the floor with a shaky hand holding her beer can aloft.

“Fuck the carpet,” says Clarke, and Lexa goes all mock-stern on her with, “Language, miss,” and _god,_ Clarke thinks, blinking, _how are you even real?_ The heat climbs from the space where their legs touch, and pools right in the pit of Clarke’s stomach.

“Shit,” Clarke finds herself saying out loud. And then, seeing Lexa’s face: “Sorry. _Shit._ There it goes again.”

Lexa takes a moment before breaking into a laugh. “Are you drunk? No – you _are_ drunk.” Clarke notes the slight glaze in Lexa’s eyes – _like you’re any better?_ she almost asks, and when Clarke catches herself lowering her gaze to Lexa’s lips—

“ _Anyway,_ ” Clarke says, trying desperately to get a hold of herself. “I was saying. Finn.”

“You said you were on a _break_ ,” Lexa says, her eyes focusing. _Is she sobering up?_ “Whatever that means.”

“It means exactly what I think it does,” says Clarke, leaning back against the opposite edge of the couch. She breathes in as she tries to form a more coherent statement. _This is it, right? This is where I tell her—_ “And I think…” Clarke trails off, watching the words dissolve in the air. _Fuck._

“Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke shakes her head. _What am I even thinking? I’m not—this is not the time for this._ When Lexa laughs a little, Clarke has to strain harder, just not to break. “Oh. Right. So Finn and I are taking a break. No big.”

“ _Yes_ big,” Lexa insists, and right then, she reaches for Clarke’s legs and stretches them over her lap, like old times, and ultimately, Clarke is unable to stop the sigh that escapes her lips. _Have you any idea at all,_ Clarke thinks, biting down on her lip as Lexa starts pressing into her ankle, the gesture familiar but oh, how it burns.

“Seriously though,” Lexa’s speaking again, and Clarke has to focus harder on the words. “I may not look like I enjoy your Finn stories, but I do take comfort in the fact that there’s always someone.”

If Clarke wasn’t sober a couple of moments ago, she most certainly is now. _What is that supposed to mean?_ She wants to ask. _There is always someone._

_You have always been someone._

“There _is_ always someone,” Clarke manages after a while, and she feels the _exact_ moment that Lexa’s hand stills around her ankle; that moment Lexa stops breathing, _waiting._ “Are you even _paying attention?_ ” Clarke adds softly.

Lexa is quiet for a long while, before finally responding with: “What do you think?”

Clarke feels like she’s just been thrown off a cliff, the thing in her chest finally giving her permission to _cave._ She thinks, _Fuck this._ She thinks, _I have been here since we were fifteen._ Slowly, Clarke sits up and draws herself closer, noting the shallow rise and fall of Lexa’s shoulders in the dark. Outside, the rain starts falling harder, pattering against the windows, the roof, and _god,_ Clarke wishes the sounds are enough to hide the way her heart is pounding so loudly.

 _This beats for you,_ she thinks, practically straddling Lexa, pinning her against the couch. “Sometimes, I think you’re fucking blind,” says Clarke. In the low light, she sees the look in Lexa’s eyes shift from confusion to alarm, and she thinks, _Now or never._

So Clarke kisses first. This is how this story goes – Clarke doesn’t see her best friend coming; it was a dark and stormy night. Clarke misses on the first attempt on purpose, planting her lips chastely against the corner of Lexa’s mouth – like she’s giving her a moment to push her away. _Please._ She looks at Lexa in that brief moment that she pulls away, hoping and _hoping_.

Lexa keeps her hands firm around Clarke’s waist, like she’s saying, _Stay,_ and _god,_ Clarke thinks, leaning back in and kissing her full on the mouth, all the wind knocked out of her in the urgency of it all.

 _This. What has been missing all along._ Lexa starts kissing back, and Clarke feels herself go _boneless_ in her hands, licking into her mouth and clawing at her shoulders, her skin burning as Lexa finds her way under her shirt.

 _Fuck._ Clarke breaks away first, trying to catch her breath. Her lungs burn; _everything_ burns. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, and Clarke takes that split-second to stare down into Lexa’s eyes, running her thumb down the corner of her lips, where her smirk ends. _Jesus. Just—_

“Language, miss,” says Lexa, before leaning in for another kiss, and right then, Clarke _knows,_ just how _lost_ she has been.

*

(Lexa finds her, again and again.)

*

Before term break ends, they manage one last trip to the lake. The shade is pleasant as it is a cloudy day, and Clarke grins right across at Lexa as they set their mat down on the grass, a bottle of wine between them. The lake is quiet all around, and Lexa looks out at the water, taking it in.

“You’re staring, Clarke,” says Lexa, smiling.

“Old times’ sake,” Clarke just says, as she crawls over to Lexa and kisses her right on the lakeshore.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to do that,” Lexa murmurs against her lips.

It feels like the start of a good summer.

*

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Hey,” Clarke says softly. She’s just finished settling back into her dorm when she decides to give Lexa a call. “How was your trip?”

Lexa sighs. On the other end, Clarke could hear Lexa moving around, zipping and unzipping things. “Torturous,” she says. “I miss you.”

Clarke smiles at how easy it feels now – that Lexa could say that so straightforwardly, without blinking. “I miss you too,” she says back, slipping into bed, the sheets rustling underneath her, the night suddenly warmer with Lexa’s voice in her ear. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I don’t know,” says Lexa, distractedly. Clarke notes a soft thud on the other end – could be Lexa’s finance book being dropped against a table. “I should probably – maybe turn in early? Long day tomorrow, I assume. You should, too.”

Clarke pouts. “I can’t sleep,” she says. “ _Talk to me_.”

There’s a hitch in Lexa’s breath at that, and Clarke presses her phone closer to her ear, automatically.

“ _Clarke._ ”

“ _What?”_ Clarke asks softly, her hands moving of their own accord. “Just—Keep talking, Lex.”

There’s a pause, but Clarke could tell how shallowly Lexa’s breathing on the other end. “All right,” Lexa says finally, and Clarke lets out a low moan. “Don’t hang up on me, all right? Wanna hear you.”

_Fuck._

*

This is how the story supposedly goes: Clarke meets her best friend at fifteen. Lexa rescues her, fixes her bike, and when they get all greasy, Clarke hoses Lexa’s legs clean. Really, it should have started right then, that first afternoon, but since it _didn’t,_ the story starts elsewhere: Maybe that moment Lexa comes home with Costia; maybe that time Lexa comes on the phone. Maybe that time on the couch, when it was practically too late to stop, anyways.

So maybe Clarke’s a bit of a shitty storyteller. Maybe the problem with her is that she doesn’t do beginnings well.

 _No matter,_ she thinks, looking up and scanning the windows of Lexa’s dormitory, phone in her ear.

“Clarke?”

“Hey,” Clarke says. “So I may or may not be standing outside your window right now.”

Clarke may suck at beginnings, but she’s _fucking_ good with surprises, and she thinks, maybe, that’s not at all a bad thing.

#

 


End file.
